Gloomy Sunday
by RedHatMeg
Summary: For them he was just cheerful idiot. How could he have any emotional problems?" Suicidal!Spain
1. Chapter 1

**So I was reading some fic with depressed!Romano and i thought: "Romano is just perfect for suicidal fics, but what if Spain wanted to commit suicide?" And bum! - the idea popped out, even if, at first, I didn't know, why exactly Antonio would want to kill himself. Also, I'm aware that he isn't the suicidal type, but - oh well - many things happens in life.**

**Anyway, review. Pretty please~.**

**Chapter 1**

Spain opened doors to his house. The only thing that greeted him was silence. He could only hear his own footsteps as he was walking through the hallway. Sun was shining outside the window, where tempting red tomatoes were growing in the garden. Antonio seized with sad gaze an empty living room and then he slowly went up the stairs, to his bedroom. He wanted nothing else than just lie on his bed and think about random things. When he finally approached his room and wooden door cracked open, he didn't even looked at the place, he just entered. His legs moved on its own to the bed's direction and soon Spain fell numbly on the white cover, like cut tree.

Silence. His house was so silent… Sun was shining through the curtains to the room and its rays were spotlighting the wooden floor. Normally he would love it. After all, there was nothing depressing in spring sun, right? No, there was. Right now the sun only annoyed him, just like everything else. Just like tomatoes, just like people, just like World Meetings, just like other nations.

He was returning to this empty, silent place after day full of the same antics, repeated on and on, day by day. Breakfast, work, siesta, work in garden, Bad Touch Trio bar meetings, returning home, supper, bath and sleep. Sometimes World or EU Meeting, sometimes visit from Romano, who was demanding food or money; sometimes call from his boss. But in the end, when Antonio was returning from meetings; when Romano left his house; when he and his boss dealt with problem, they've had – in the end Spain was once again alone in his big, silent home.

Nothing was making him happy, anymore. Nothing, even going out with France and Prussia, South Italy's visits, harvesting tomatoes, listening cheerful music or reading books. Everything, which he was always enjoying, now he was doing without enthusiasm. When Francis and Gilbert was taking him out to the bar, he was grinning and laughing like always, but he knew that after further examination everybody would knew, his smiles were fake. But to France, Prussia, South Italy and everyone else, he was still just happy-go-lucky, dense idiot.

_Dense idiot._

Spain clenched his teeth, but then gave a sigh. They didn't know what was spinning in his head lately. They didn't know, what he was doing, when he was completely alone in those four walls of his empty house. Not that he ever cared to tell them. He couldn't imagine Prussia or France to help him. They seemed to be not mature enough to understand. Oh, _come on_! A loud, self-centered ex-nation, who keeps playing pranks, and pervert, who can't keep his hands away and love to argue with England over stupid things. They were always cheerful, always absorbed by some unimportant things. Yeah, sure Francis was the country of love and was great, when it came to relationship advices, but the thing Antonio was feeling inside was far from Frenchman's "area".

So the only one person left – Romano. If Antonio wanted to tell somebody about it, then thought about Romano was immediately popping out in his mind. And there was a lot of occasions to tell him, after all Italian's visits was pretty frequent. But every time Spain wanted to say something about his mood, South Italy was ordering him to do something, or just started to talk about how pissed he was lately. Of course. Why he would bother about "dense idiot Spain"? Why would he ask: "Hey, Antonio, how are you doing?", since the only reason to come here, was to get something for himself? Romano never even liked him and he was always showing it pretty well. If he was coming to Antonio, he was doing it only because he wanted something, not because he cared the man, who was loving him as his own child.

It was another reason to feel gloomy. Ungratefulness of Romano was painful. Romano was sick, Antonio was taking care of him. Romano cried, Antonio comforted him. Romano was attacked and captured by Sadiq, Antonio immediately ran to save him. Romano needed parent's love, Antonio gave it to him with all his heart. And now, the only thing South Italy was saying to him was: "Give me some churros, tomato bastard!" Spain could be really patient, but this aggressive and demanding tone wasn't helping him at all to deal with his depression.

Suddenly Spain felt the great wave of anger. Damn Francis! Damn Gilbert! Damn Romano! What kind of friends they are?! He was crying here. He needed help and he knew it very well. He was in deep depression. Was it so hard to be seen? He felt another wave of anger and tears that ran down his cheeks. Was it so hard to imagine him depressed? No, because he was dense Spain. For them he was just cheerful idiot. How could he have any emotional problems?

Oh, yeah?! Let's find out!

He quickly stood up and marched downstairs, to kitchen. Smoothly opened the drawer, where his kitchen knives was and he took the one that he generally was using to cut tomatoes. He tackled the right sleeve of his white shirt, uncovering forearm with lots of little cuts. There was still some free space on his long, tanned arm. He put the knife tightly to waist and sharp blade left on his body another mark. When he was doing it for first time, Spain bit his lip, feeling the pain, but now he only observed how cut was opening, forming small eclipse. He made another, deeper and bigger cuts near that one. He even opened wounds that were starting to heal. Soon red liquid ran from his arm on the floor. Like from leaking pipe, the drops of his blood was rhythmically tapping, leaving on clean, kitchen floor. He observed it with numbness, still holding the knife few meters from his forearm.

Sometimes Antonio was hoping that Romano, Gilbert, Francis – or just simply anyone – will see something strange in his behavior. That someone will see his not-so-cheerful-as-usual grin, or sad gaze. He hoped that during another visit of Romano, his sleeve will accidently move down itself a little and then his baby brother will notice cuts on his waist and ask: "What the hell is that?! You will doing it to yourself, tomato bastard?! Why?" Spain hoped that during another bar conversation France or Prussia will suddenly say: "Hey, Antonio. You look a bit gloomy today. Is everything OK?" He hoped that maybe just one person will come to him on World Meeting, put hand on his shoulder and with smile say: "Hi, you seem depressed. How are you doing?"

But they never noticed anything. He was alone with his depression.

He clenched his teeth with anger and started furiously cutting his arm on and on, only by miracle leaving veins merely touched. Finally Spain stopped and, breathing deeply, looked at what he had done. Red rivers was absconding in one stream and kitchen floor was even more dirty than before. There was one big flood of his own blood. Antonio's anger flew away, there was only despair. He put the knife on the nearest table, took his wounded arm with his good hand and pulled it closer to his chest. Then he slowly sat on the cold ground, curled knees and started to cry. He didn't bother that blood was soaking into his shirt. He was only weeping quietly, so quietly that even if somebody actually came to him, he could hear his cries only few steps from kitchen's door.

After few minutes of crying, Spain wiped his eyes and, not standing up, opened the nearest cupboard, where was bandages. He unrolled it and covered with cloths around forearm. Then he cut off bandage and tightened it so firmly that he felt pain. After fixing his arm, Antonio was still sitting on kitchen's floor, eyes turned on space before him. He felt weak, old and unwanted. His arm was aching him and he wanted to cry more. Maybe he was living too long. Maybe it was time to disappear like Rome. Nobody won't be crying after him anyway.

Of course he was considering suicide many times during all those months (yes, he was actually sulking into this depression for months), but when he was going to do something – cut his veins, jump from bridge, drink wine with antibiotics, shoot himself – there was always moment of hesitation. He suddenly didn't want to die. Or he wanted, but had not enough strength and courage to kill himself. So he was retreating and going back to life. Of course, no one even had seen it, so no one ran to him and tried to stop him.

Tomorrow is another World Meeting. If nobody comfort him or even show some interest in his sadness, Antonio will commit suicide. It will be their last chance to save him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Spain, entered the Conference Room, he didn't greet with anybody, which was rather weird of him. Generally he was the one, who was first saying: "Hi". He also didn't started conversation with anybody, which he was often doing. He just sat on his place and waited, hoping that maybe his uncharacteristic behavior will be noticed. He seized the room in search of some rising with surprise eyebrows; in search of interested or worried looks. Nervousness increased inside of him, when he found no such thing. But – well – there was whole World Meeting for it. He should be patient.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Then he started massaging his right arm. His wounds were still aching a bit, but not that much to not ignore it. Some maid came to him with wagon of tea- and coffeepots. He rose his eyes on her. She smiled politely, he smiled back. And then she asked:

"Coffee? Tea?"

Spain hadn't said anything for a moment, just rolled his eyes down. What he wanted to drink today? It would be his last "world meeting" drink. Or maybe this poor child could help him?

After nearly two minutes of silence, maid probably came to conclusion that he didn't want anything, so she started to leave. Spain's eyes moved from floor to her and he called:

"Please, wait, miss. I've made my mind."

She unhurriedly returned to him.

"Yes, mister?"

"I… I would like some coffee." He said quickly.

Without a word, maid took one of coffeepots and poured some dark liquid to Spain's cup. He thanked her and she moved to another nation. Antonio was gazing after her. Why he was fooling himself? She was only doing her job. Personal problems of her customers wasn't something she would bother herself.

The World Meeting started. Truth to be told, he wasn't paying any attention to what others were saying. He was just sipping slowly his coffee and observing everything around him. Prussia, as always, was sitting in the corner and throwing everywhere paper planes with caricatures of other nations. One of the planes landed near Spain's right foot. Antonio picked it up and straighten. He didn't quite know, if he was expecting some funny message (like: "Cheer up, Antonio! Awesome me don't want to see his best buddies sad!") or just cartoon, which would change his mood, but what he had saw, made him disappointed. There was only big potato with large teeth and frowned eyebrows, who was saying: "Let's begin the attack of the killing potatoes". Antonio didn't even smile. Sometimes Gilbert's jokes was really pathetic.

And he knew it was rather for Romano, than him, so Antonio balled it and threw in South Italy's direction. Romano eyed the ball, then he took it and checked what was there. Seeing potato, he threw it with irritation on the ground and in addition squashed with foot. He looked at Spain, who was still observing him. Spain hoped that his own sad gaze will give his former charge idea that Antonio needs help. But Romano only sighed and started to shooing him.

On the other hand France started to flirt with Belgium. She was blushing and smiling shyly, not looking at Frenchman. Good, old Francis. Always focused on beautiful things. Antonio knew him long enough to tell that he was going to flirt with his victim, until he'll either get to her pants or will be beaten up by her family or victim herself. He was probably going to hit to Belgium, since he entered the room, because he didn't moved from place near her, even before the beginning of meeting. That's why he hadn't came to Antonio. Spain smiled ironically. Probably Francis didn't even noticed Spaniard.

To the rest of the meeting, until Germany hadn't made a break, Spain was looking for something, _anything_, which could be evidencing about care, but it was useless. Some nations were talking, other were sleeping, other were doing anything else to not listen Alfred. Soon America and England started to argue again, France joined to the battle and another meeting changed into one big bar fight. Only Antonio (and maybe Matthew, but he hadn't seen him) was sitting on his chair and observing the floor, while others were fighting with each other and screaming. Spain started to wondering, do they would stop fighting and finally turned their attention on him, if he stood up, hit the table and said, right here, right now: "Hey, I'm gonna kill myself." But then he giggled once again. _He_ wouldn't even take such statement seriously. Teenagers were saying such things to turn attention of others on themselves, and he was adult nation.

Antonio knew, he had to be patient. The day hadn't ended yet. They still have time to save him. But Spain started to losing his hope. For now, they didn't even seem to realize that he is depressed. He sighed deeply and stood up from his chair, unnoticed by still fighting nations. He left the Conference Room and walked to toilet. When he was finally there, he leaned his arms on the sink and for about five minutes was observing his own reflection in the mirror. Nothing in his presence seemed to tell anybody that something wasn't right. Maybe his hair was a bit messed and his skin a bit paler, but it wasn't a sign of depression on anything.

"Pathetic…" He whispered.

Waiting for them to realize that he was depressed, was pathetic. Maybe he was fooling himself to believe, they all will see it. What he was thinking? That they all will suddenly turn their gazes on him and start to crowding to comfort him? He wasn't that important person. Maybe he wasn't important to anyone at all. Maybe on this wide world he hadn't even one true friend.

Antonio started to wash his hands slowly. After all he didn't have to hurry up on World Meeting. The fight will be going on at least for five minutes. He turned off the sink and shook the rest of the water off from hands, leaving the toilet. He immediately stopped with confusion, when he met on the hallway Gilbert. Prussian sent him his trademark smirk. Spain smiled back with one of his usual grin.

"Hi, Gilbert." He greeted him. "What brought you here?"

Antonio's heart started to pounding quickly, but he tried to cover his nervousness and hope. Please, let it be that Gilbert came here, because he was worried over him.

"I wanted to remind you that you owe me five backs." Prussia answered, still smirking.

Spain's smile faded away and Antonio looked down. So he came just for his money, not because he wanted to comfort his friend. Well, it seemed that this whole let-others-show-how-you-feel action was pointless. If Antonio wanted comfort, he had to tell about his problems straight. So Spain looked with determinate gaze at Prussia.

"Gilbert, I have to tell you something…" He began, but had been cut by Prussian:

"Is it have to something with my cash?"

"What?" Spain blinked with surprise. Then he answered: "No, but…"

"So I don't want to listen. Bye."

He started to leave. Antonio watched with astonishment, when one of his two best friends was abandoning him. He didn't know if he supposed to call after him or let him leave. Neverless he felt betrayed. Suddenly the images of betrayals flashed before him. Images of France happily flirting with Belgium. Images of South Italy shooing him away. Images of Prussia leaving him in the hallway. Spain clenched his fists and soon one of them hit the nearest wall. How could they do it to him? How could they ignore him? How could they leave him, when he was going to ask them for help?

Antonio quickly dashed to the World Meeting, where fighting was still going on and nobody seemed to turn his attention on him. He took his suitcase and left the place.

He came back home at eight o'clock, then immediately fell on the coach in the living room and sighed deeply. He was hoping that his cell phone will start to ring and he will see one of three caller IDs, but after two hours of silence, he gave up.

They had last chance and they wasted it. They didn't even try to find out, what's wrong. Those three selfish bastards were absorbed by their own businesses. It seemed that Spain had no other option – he began to think about the best way to end with himself.

* * *

Francis waited for any response on the other side of the phone. Gilbert, who came to him just an hour ago, was now sitting on the couch, equally nervous as his host. It was week, since Antonio wasn't answering their calls and wasn't coming with them to bar. At first they thought he was busy, but Spain never missed the chance to go out with his best friends. He also wasn't sick, he would tell them about it. Something was wrong, they both felt it. But before they could go to Spain, they had to check if South Italy knew something.

"Wine bastard, I don't want to talk with you!" Romano finally answered.

"Wait, tell one thing and I will leave you alone."

"Ok, but do it quickly."

"Do you know what's happening to Antonio? He hadn't spoke to us for week."

"I thought he was with you, guys. He always is hanging around you two."

"Well, he don't even replies on our calls. We thought you might know, what's wrong."

"Hm…" France touched his chin in reflection. "It looks bad, really bad."

"Maybe…" South Italy started. Francis could feel in his voice some uneasiness. "Maybe we should go to him and check?"

"Good idea. Let's meet at his house in one and half an hour. It will give us enough time to get there."

"But I'm warning you, wine bastard. If you grope me, I will kill you."

France giggled and said:

"Fine. _Au revoir_, Romano."

Soon all three of them stood at the Spain's porch and Romano knocked to door twice. Silence. There was no response. They also hadn't heard any steps on the other side of the door. Probably Antonio couldn't hear them, because he was somewhere on upper levels, or he just hadn't waken up from his siesta (it was really early, after all). Romano knocked harsher. Once again there was just silence. Francis and Gilbert sighed and joined to him, but it was useless. Still there was no sound of Spain's voice or steps.

"Maybe he isn't home?" Francis said.

"Nonsense. He always is here at this time of day!" Was Romano's reply.

South Italy and Prussia wanted to scream, but France moved them both aside and drew out from his pocket spare key to Spain's house.

"Why I haven't thought about it?" Prussia asked.

"Because you're not so brilliant as me, _mon ami_."

"Wha… you!" Gilbert wanted to jump at Francis, but Romano had embraced him tightly, so Prussian couldn't move.

"Let's go already!" The Italian yelled.

Gilbert calmed himself down and all three men came in to the house. At first hallway in Spain's big house was silent, but after few seconds they heard some distant noise from the floor upon them. After another few seconds, they realized that it was really sad music. Soon they also recognized voice of some woman singing:

_Sunday is gloomy_

_the hours are slumberless_

_dearest the shadows_

_I live with are numberless…_

They looked at each other and exchanged nods of understanding. Then they ran quickly on the first floor, directed by sounds of melancholic tune. It led them right to the Spain's bedroom. And what they saw, made them stunned in utter shock. Antonio was hung on the long rope, tied to ceiling's lamp; and the wheezing sound was coming out from his throat.

* * *

**Yeah, the title came from the name of the song. Well, I'm lazy XD. It will appear in the story few times again.**

**Please, review. I love reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

His feet were about a quarter of meter above floor, where was lying knocked down stool. His eyes widened almost just like theirs, when they've saw him. France ran to Spain, caught his legs and supported him, while Prussia's eyes found leaned on the wall axe. Gilbert wasn't hesitating even a second, he took it and with one smooth move cut off the rope, which Antonio was hung on. Francis put their friend on the floor and started to loosening the loop.

Romano was observing it all with horror. He couldn't even move from his spot. Everything was like in slow motion or like a pretty realistic nightmare. But it wasn't a dream. He was really standing here and Antonio really was trying to kill himself. Romano wanted to do something, to be useful, but the whole situation was scaring him so much that he didn't know what to do.

"Romano." France turned to him. South Italy only gazed at Frenchman. "Call the ambulance."

The shock quickly abandoned him. He drew out from his pocket a cell phone and called to hospital. Without problems, he instructed the ambulance, what happened and where they had to go. Meanwhile Francis took the loop off from Antonio, whose eyelids were barely open. Gilbert checked the pulse. It was weak, but it seemed that Spain was still alive. France began the resuscitation mouth to mouth, while Prussia was helping him by pushing Spain's breastbone. South Italy hung up the phone and sat beside France to look what was happening.

"Come on, buddy. "Gilbert kept saying. "Bad Touch Trio can't become Bad Touch Duet."

There was something uncharacteristic in his voice. Something, which was making it cracking with sadness, restlessness and fear. All three of them – Francis, Gilbert and Romano – were scared that it might be too late, but also they still couldn't believe that it was really happening.

While they were doing it, the music was still playing. The song was slowly coming to the end, when three men tried desperately to save their friend. Antonio, however, didn't know what was happening to him right now. He knew only two things: that they suddenly ran to the room about half a minute after he kicked the stool, and that he couldn't breathe. He was hearing their worried voices like a distant calls. Soon his lungs started to work, even if he still hadn't opened his eyes.

"He's breathing!" France said with relief.

He and Prussia stopped the resuscitation and moved back. All three nations were observing with tension their friend. Antonio's eyelids rose a bit and with quiet, weak voice he finally spoke to them:

"You're too late. I don't want your help, anymore."

Then he closed his eyes once again and everything went black in sweet slumber.

* * *

The hospital room, where Antonio had been located, was small and painted white. There was one bed, standing at the wall on the right side; single chair and nightstand at the window that was in the middle of the room. Spain was peacefully sleeping in bed. Doctor said that he was really lucky – his brain wasn't damaged because of lack of air and it seemed that physically he was fine. However, due to situation, doctor recommended to leave him on psychological observation or just send him on therapy. For now Francis, Gilbert and Romano couldn't decide which one to do.

Next to Antonio's bed Romano was sitting on the chair and holding his former caretakers hand, observing with worry Antonio's calm face. However, the Italian couldn't erase from his head vision of Spain hung on the lump. France and Prussia couldn't either. From the moment, when they arrived to hospital after ambulance, they rarely spoke to each other.

"I wouldn't expect something like that from Spain of all people." Francis whispered, finally breaking the silence. Gilbert and Romano looked at him, but then Italian's eyes returned to Antonio.

Then South Italy spotted something weird on Spain's wrist, something thin and red. Romano slowly pulled down sleeping man's sleeve, revealing covered with cuts arm. All three men's eyes widened with shock. Romano tightened his grip on Antonio's hand. The face of South Italy were now expressing odd mix of anger and sadness.

"Spain, you idiot. You damn idiot." He whispered. In his eyes flashed scene, when Spain was nervously rubbing the same arm on World Meeting.

"So much for Spanish Optimism." Prussia commented.

"Why he hadn't said anything?" France asked. "We would help him."

Gilbert's eyes snapped open when sudden realization came to his head. He saw Antonio, who said to him: "Gilbert, I have to tell you something…", his eyes sad, his tone serious. And then he remembered how he – Gilbert Beilschmidt – cut him out, not wanting to listen what the other man tried to say. Prussia turned to the wall and started to bumping his head on it, turning the attention of other two men on himself.

"How could I be so stupid?"

"What do you mean?" France asked. Prussia stopped the hitting and looked at him.

"On last World Meeting we've met in the hallway. He wanted to tell me something, but I didn't listen, because I wanted back my cash. Damn it, I'm so stupid."

"Yeah, you certainly are." South Italy commented, but then his expression softened. He looked at Gilbert. "Do you have any idea what was that he wanted to tell you?" Then he turned at Spain. "One thing that I am sure – it wasn't because of crisis. He can perfectly deal with poverty and financial problems."

"I honestly don't know, but our _ami_ had to be in depression for months. Some of those scars on his arm are quite old."

"But he was happy as always!" Prussia almost exclaimed. "He was smiling, laughing and drinking like there was nothing wrong."

Antonio's eyes opened a bit. For a moment his vision was blurry, but then it cleared up. He realized that his hand was held by Romano and that Gilbert and Francis was talking in silent voices. And then the memory of his failed suicide attempt hit him. He was still alive, probably in hospital (the smell and sounds on the hallway wasn't fooling him) and three men, whose help he didn't want, was now with him, waiting for his awaking.

Spain freed himself from South Italy's grip with one harsh move. The Italian looked at him with surprise, alongside with France and Prussia. Then their expressions changed from surprised to happy and relieved. But he was observing them with emotionless face, not knowing what to say or even think. One part of him was deeply touched that they came to his house, saved him and took to hospital. The other part was angry with them – for coming in nearly last moment, for interrupting his suicide, when he so desperately wanted to die, for finally realizing his pain, when he tried to kill himself. And this wrath, directed at his three most precious persons (did they were still them after all of this?), was stronger than melting mood. Because he still wanted to die.

He sat in bed, but he had done it so fast that he felt dizzy for a moment. He rolled his gaze from Romano, to Francis and Gilbert. They expressions became sad, filled with worry. Spain's eyes moved to the wall, like he didn't want to see them, which was partly true. He waited for one of them to ask this question. Someone had to say it.

"Why you did it?" France was the one, who broke the silence.

Spain looked at him. His gaze changed from neutral to cold. He clenched his fists. Now they wanted to know? After months of ignoring him those bastards was asking, why he wanted to commit suicide? His blood was boiling with anger. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Why?" He started with quiet, but cool voice. "You really want to know?"

"Well, yeah." Was Prussia's answer. "Our friend was cutting himself and tried to commit suicide. It's obvious, we want to know what's wrong with you."

Spain's lips twitched in angry grimace. He pulled up his cover and stood on the cold floor, leaning on the bold of bed. They could easily see that he wasn't in the best mood.

"You had the chance to ask what was wrong with me during whole this time, when I was sulking in depression." At first his voice was quiet, but then he changed his tone into harsher and angrier. "But you were too busy with flirting, demanding money from me or ordering me around! I knew, I can't tell you what was bothering me! After all you are just immature, selfish bastards!"

"Hey, wait a second, dude…" Prussia wanted to say something, but he had been immediately interrupted by France's hand. He looked with surprise at Frenchman.

"Let him speak." His eyes was serious.

"All this time you couldn't see that I wasn't as cheerful as always; that I was hiding something; that my smiles were fake! I was hoping that you will see it, but it never happened! You never even realized that something was wrong with me! And who is now dense idiot?"

The gazes of them all dropped down with shame, but he didn't stop.

"When I tried to say something, you didn't want to listen! Of course! How could I expect any comfort from guys, who think only about their libido, 'awesomeness' and stomach? How could I ever expect that you will bother to cheer me up? That you will ever do something for me?"

Antonio was near to cry, but he just sighed deeply and looked at them. For a moment none of four men in the room spoke. Maybe Spain was hoping for any denial from them, but – on the other hand – he didn't want to listen it. He sat on the bed and looked down.

"Why you even saved me?" His voice was silent. They all looked at him with surprise. "I wanted to die. You don't even know, how much. My life lost its sense long time ago."

"Idiot!" Romano finally spoke after being silent for so long, and stood up. "Don't you dare to talk like that, or I will…"

"Or you will kill me?" Antonio put up his sad gaze on his former charge, who twitched with shock. "Come on, do it. I don't care, how I will die. I just want to end this all."

"Stop saying this bullshit, tomato bastard. I won't let you die."

"You won't let me die, Romano?" Spain chuckled ironically. "You don't even like me."

"Stop it!" South Italy screamed, catching Spain's shirt and pulling him closer. "How can you say all those things about us? Just because we hadn't realized that you're depressed earlier, it doesn't mean, we don't care about you." There was something sad, nearly desperate in his eyes and voice. And Antonio saw it. "Now, when we know that you are suicidal, we will do everything to make you back to normal. We are your friends, tomato bastard."

"And you are ours." Francis added with smile. "We won't leave you like that."

Antonio pushed Romano back, making him releasing his grip, and once again looked at the floor.

"I said, I don't want your help." His voice was still silent, but there was some hesitation in it.

"Well then, you will have to take it." Gilbert smirked, but then he became serious. "Because there's no way we are going to let our friend die."

"Now, go to sleep, Antonio. You have to rest." France was still smiling. He took his hand on Prussia's shoulder and said to South Italy: "Come on, guys, leave him alone. He missed his siesta." The last sentence had been said by him with mocking smirk.

All three of them went to the door's direction.

"Wait." Antonio started. They turned to him. "Aren't you scared that I will kill myself, when you'll leave me?"

Francis' smile widened.

"Do you really think that hospital's personnel would locate you in place with any tool you could use to commit suicide?"

Spain looked around. Damn it! There really wasn't anything useful. No glass, no sharp things, the window had bars, so there is no way he could jump off. If he wanted to die, it wasn't possible in this place.

Romano, Francis and Gilbert left him alone. But once they came on the hallway, France stopped them and with serious expression said:

"We can't screw it up."

* * *

**Honestly, there are parts in this chapter, I don't like, but I'm really proud of Prussia's line about Bad Touch Trio becoming Bad Touch Duet.**

**Don't forget to review. I'm counting on you!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Excuse me, could you tell me where Antonio Fernandez Corriedo is located?" Roderich Edelstein asked young woman in hospital reception.

She looked at him, then to the computer. It took her few seconds to find the right information. Then she smiled to the guest and told him to go on second floor, room 25. Roderich thanked her and quickly rushed to nearest elevator. While Austria was approaching Spain's room, he still couldn't stop thinking about this whole story that sounded so ridiculous, but was true. Antonio was always the one, who cheered everybody up. Hope was always shining in his warm, green eyes. Even if he was sad, he always ended up grinning, bringing smile to everyone else.

And last afternoon Prussia came to Austria's house and told him that Spain tried to commit suicide and was cutting his own arm. At first Roderich didn't believe him, but Gilbert was deadly serious. He couldn't fake such seriousness. Austria called to South Italy and Romano confirmed Prussia's story. When first shock gone, Gilbert asked him for a flavor. Roderich was hesitating for about five minutes. Well, he hadn't done it for really long time and he doubted if it could work, but the Prussian was determinate to make him do anything to stop Antonio from committing suicide. The Austrian couldn't help but agree.

At Spain's room was present Prussia and France. It seemed that South Italy was with the patient. Prussia waved to Austria, making him blush with annoyance. Roderich quickly marched to them. Before he will do, what he had to do, it would be good to ask them some questions. At first both Gilbert and Francis were cheerful. Gilbert just _had to _rest his arm on Roderich's shoulder and start mocking him.

"So… are you ready, doctor Edelstein?"

Not amused Austria just took off Prussia's hand from his shoulder, cleared his throat and looked at him with serious gaze.

"I'm not here for your entertainment, Gilbert. You've asked me to start therapy with Antonio, so I'm here."

France and Prussia almost immediately got grim. Gilbert straightened his composure and once again Roderich saw this deadly seriousness in Prussian's expression. He could even read some uneasiness in this red eyes and voice, when Prussia said:

"Sorry, Rod. Lately I don't have much reason to laugh."

"You see," France added. "we're spending most of the time with Antonio and, honestly, this gloominess starts to drive us crazy."

"I understand." Austria smiled friendly, but then got serious again. "How is he now?"

"He tried many times to deceive us and do something stupid, but we managed to see him through." Prussia smirked and giggled.

"Now he's with Romano. We are going to see his house and prepare it for his returning."

Austria rose his eyebrows.

"So the hospital agreed to send him home already? It's just two days."

"Doctor said his physical wounds heals pretty good." France replied. "He decided to leave him here for one more day and then send him home tomorrow. We think that his mental wounds will heal better in his own house."

"Besides, it's not like his awesome guardians will abandon him." Then Prussia slammed Austria's shoulder, saying: "And we're also counting on you, Roddy. I hope that this Freud guy taught you something sensible."

"I will do my best." Roderich mumbled, adjusting his glasses.

Meanwhile in room 25, South Italy uncovered the curtains. On the nightstand at the window was standing vase with bucket of roses, brought by France the other day. It was from whole UN. Everybody was calling to Spain, wishing him good health and quick recovering, but hearing them, Antonio Fernandez Corriedo hadn't smiled even once.

Romano looked at Antonio, who was sitting on the bed and observing his lingered hands.

"So," South Italy decided to break the silence. "the only thing you want from your house is the guitar?"

"Yeah." Spain nodded, but he didn't put up his gaze from hands and didn't look at the other man.

Romano hadn't said anything. He only came closer to Antonio and leaned his head to be on Spaniard's eye level, but Spain rolled his gaze back on his hands.

"You know, Spain," South Italy smiled. "even if you wanted me to bring here a piano, I would do it."

"Just go already." Spain mumbled impatiently, still refusing to look at him.

The annoyed grimace appeared on Romano's face, but he didn't say anything. He just straightened himself, say goodbye to Antonio and closed the door behind himself. Seeing Austria on the hallway, he said:

"Finally. Don't worry, you won't be alone. I called to someone, who is good in comforting people. There is no way, tomato ba…" He suddenly cut and after short pause he corrected himself with sad smile: "There is no way, Antonio would resist him."

"Who is it?" Austria asked.

"You will understand, when he will finally come. I've called to him few minutes ago and he said, he will be in twenty minutes."

"I have twenty minutes then." Roderich smiled. "Well, even if it isn't much, I think I will find something. I won't waste any more time." He rested his hand on the doorknob, but he turned to them before he came in, and said: "See you later."

"Good luck." Francis waved to him with smile and all three of them – he, Gilbert and Romano – went to elevator.

Austria opened the door and came in. Closing it behind himself, he looked at the Spain in white pajama. Antonio was still observing his hands, but when the doors had been opened, he moved his eyes to the visitor. It seemed that he didn't expect Roderich here, because he gave him a bit surprised look. But then he sighed deeply and leaned his back on the wall.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with bored voice.

Roderich sat on the chair.

"Gilbert asked me to help."

"I don't need your help."

"We will see. Maybe you want something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"If you say so…"

Austria didn't know how to start the therapy. He only knew that it won't be easy, since Spain was resisting. Roderich looked at Antonio. The Spaniard seemed to be paler. His brown hair was messed more than usual. His green eyes lacked their regular warmth and Roderich thought, he even saw light bags under them.

"How are you?" Austria finally asked. "You seem not sleeping well."

"I don't have good dreams, so how could I sleep well?"

"What kind of dreams you have?"

There was a moment of silence, when Antonio looked at Roderich with surprise. But then he rolled his eyes on the ceiling.

"I have no dreams. I hardly can fall asleep."

"I see." Austria smiled to himself. However this smile hadn't remained long.

* * *

Francis pulled the knob of front door and all three men came in to Antonio's house. They weren't here since Antonio's suicidal attempt. When they were walking on the very same hallway as last time and when they suddenly gazed at the stairs, which was leading to Spain's room, the memory of their last visit was spinning in their heads. Obviously they didn't feel comfortable.

But they had a work to do.

"So," Prussia started. "we have to hide all things which can be dangerous to Antonio. Are we going to search every room together or just split up?"

"Well, this house is less big than the one he was living in before 19th century." France said. "Still we have to come back really quick, so maybe splitting up isn't bad idea."

"I will go to kitchen." South Italy directed to said place.

"So maybe we take care of living room, Francis." Gilbert looked at the Frenchman.

"Good idea." Francis smiled.

Romano opened the kitchen doors and rolled his gaze on the room. After few seconds his eyes widened with shock and he momentary stunned, when he spotted _it_ on the kitchen table. Soon Gilbert and Francis heard his prolonged scream of horror:

"Guys!"

France and Prussia quickly abandoned the living room and dashed to the kitchen. They were stunned too, when they saw South Italy, holding covered with red stains table knife. For a moment they didn't know what to say. They were only observing with wide eyes said blade. All three of them recalled immediately Spain's scarred arm.

"Maybe it's just tomato juice." France giggled nervously.

"Dumbass. Tomato juice would have lighter, particularly orange color." South Italy replied, then moved his eyes on the knife. "It's blood."

"Romano, don't hold it like that. Do something with it!" Prussia screamed.

"What?!" Was Romano's answer.

"Clean it up."

Romano looked at knife with disgust. The thought that Antonio was using it to purposely harm himself made him drop the knife on the floor. In his head flashed worried face of Spain, who was leaning upon younger him and saying: _Romano, you should be careful with knives. You can cut yourself or even something worse…_

"Damn hypocrite." South Italy mumbled to himself, so quietly that France and Prussia didn't hear him.

"What did you say?" Francis asked.

"Nothing, dumbass. Just come back to work."

Without a word Francis and Gilbert moved to the living room, leaving Romano alone. The Italian kneeled and put up the knife from the floor. Then he placed it in the sink and started to carefully cleaning it up.

* * *

"You know, Antonio, you and Heracles have the lowest rating of suicides in the world." Roderich said.

His patient, who was laying comfortably on the bed, moved his eyes from ceiling to the Austrian.

"So?"

"Other nations must be really surprised by your suicidal attempt. I still hardly believe in it." Austria added and saddened. "I was thinking about it since Gilbert came to me and informed me that you tried to hang yourself. I was thinking a lot, searching for any reason of your depression, but I hadn't found it. So now I'm asking you: Why you want to die?"

Spain smiled lightly.

"And why people generally want to die?"

"Because they're lonely. Because they feel unwanted. Or because their lives are filled with pain, caused by those, who supposed to love them. Is it what you feel, Antonio?"

"Maybe." Spain smiled again, but then he saddened, his eyes returning to ceiling. "But you didn't guess. It wasn't the main reason."

"So what was the main reason?"

Antonio closed his eyes.

"Think about it once again, Roderich. Why people commits suicides?"

"Because they fell in love with someone, who they cannot be with?"

"No."

"Because they lost somebody precious and they want to join that person?"

"No."

"Because their financial situation is too hard to stand?"

"No."

"Because they shouts for help, trying to kill themselves?"

"No. You hadn't guessed, Rod."

"Then why?!" Austria rose from his chair and took a step forward in Spain's direction. "I don't know what else makes people want to kill themselves! Tell me it directly, Antonio!"

For a moment Spain wasn't responding. He only moved his sad eyes on Austria, who was waiting with tension for his answer.

"Their lives." Antonio whispered. Roderich blinked with surprise. "Their lives are pointless."

Roderich sat back on his chair, observing with wide eyes the ground. Of course. How could he not think about it? The most simple reason of suicides. 'My life is worthless and have no sense, I want to die.' Austria looked again at Spain.

"But how it happened?"

"Normally. Nothing makes me happy. Every single little thing, which could easily cheer me up, after all those centuries don't even make me smile. I was living a long life, filled with pain, blood and death. It was just a matter of time, when I'll lose my will do live." Spain paused for a moment and looked on his partly healed scars. "Every knife, every window on high floor, every poison tempts me to end with myself. I'm too tired to live on. In fact, I'm like a zombie, who's walking, breathing and making sounds, but deep inside – in his mind and heart – he's dead. I was cutting my own arms, so I could feel not that numb, but I guess, even feeling pain, I'm just walking corps. My joy of life faded away, leaving only emptiness. I don't think, anybody is able to bring it back to me."

"I'm sure it's possible to take you out from this state. It need a lot of time and energy, but it is possible."

"Well, I don't think so."

"Oh, it is." Austria smiled widely. "Three pretty determinate and annoying men will put a lot of effort to achieve it."

* * *

Even if it wasn't the house, where Romano spent most of his life with Antonio, every little object was reminding him about all those centuries under Spain's superiority. Mostly it were really warm memories: Antonio hugging him after returning of long journey; Antonio fixing his wounded knee; Antonio singing him Spanish lullabies, making paella, reading books, cheering him up, when he was upset. Sometimes Spain was yelling at him for not doing his chores, but – hell! – that yelling had always love in it. Spain always was very patient for kids. In fact, Spain was really good as a father.

Romano directed to Antonio's bedroom. He had to check, if there was something dangerous, besides – that was the place, where Antonio's guitar must be. When Romano placed hand on the doorknob, he once again recalled that horrible day. For a first few seconds Romano was just standing, afraid that when he will pull the knob, he see once again Antonio hung on the lamp. South Italy bit his lip. He didn't want to, but he had to finally open those damn doors. After all Spain was in the hospital, with Austria and – probably – _him_. There was no reason to panic. Still the image of hung Antonio didn't stop to haunt him day and night.

"Maybe I should harvest his tomatoes first?" He said to himself, giggling nervously. Then he shook his head violently. "Get hold of yourself, Romano. You will have to finally go there."

However he still couldn't pull the knob and came in. His mind returned to the hospital room, where his former caretaker was right now. Before Romano's eyes flashed image of broken and silent Antonio, then the memory of the same Antonio smiling this stupid grin of his. This stupid grin, which Romano missed so much right now. And then his hand moved on its own, opening the door to Spain's bedroom.

* * *

Austria looked at his watch. It seemed that twenty minutes passed just now. He didn't want to prolonging this session. Twenty minutes with gloomy Spain made him tired and gloomy too. Still he didn't want to leave the man alone. So they were sitting in one room – Roderich on the chair and Antonio on his bed, hugging his knees – and doing nothing important. From time to time Roderich tried to start the conversation with Antonio, but the Spaniard was speaking to him shortly and then becoming silent once again.

Suddenly the door had been opened and both men saw grinning widely Feliciano with few other nations. Spain's eyes widened and he rose his head. The Italian came in, bringing along America, Russia (who was holding bucket of sunflowers) and Hungary.

"Feli? What are you doing here?" Antonio finally spoke. Feliciano grinned wider.

"Big brother told me about what happened and I thought, I will visit brother Spain."

"Oh, that's… nice."

"Come on, cheer up! Hero is here!" America screamed.

Austria smiled lightly. So the person, South Italy was talking about, was his little brother. Nice touch. Feliciano always knew, how to cheer up others. Besides, Antonio had a soft spot for him. There was no way, it would not work.

Feliciano sat beside Antonio, still smiling to the older man, who was observing him, stunned. Ivan placed the sunflowers on the nightstand, then – alongside with Elizaveta and Alfred – he sat on the bed.

"So how are you doing, brother Spain?" Feliciano asked.

"Fine, I think…"

"We were really worried about you." Elizaveta saddened. It seemed, she wanted to say something else, but she stopped herself from doing so.

Meanwhile Alfred embraced Antonio with one arm and exclaimed:

"How about going on some awesome movie, when you will recover?!"

"Am… I'm not sure."

"How do you like sunflowers?" Ivan asked innocently.

"Really nice."

Spain didn't want to say it, but presence of all those people was disturbing. They were asking him questions, smiling to him and trying to cheer him up, but Antonio wasn't in the mood to even speak to them. He wanted to be alone, however he didn't have heart to shoo all of them, especially Feliciano. They started to tell him some story, which probably supposed to make him laugh, but Spain didn't pay any attention on them. He was only nodding from time to time and sulking in his own thoughts.

* * *

Romano ended removing dangerous things from Antonio's bedroom. His eyes spotted Spain's guitar leaned on the wall next to bed. He unhurriedly approached the instrument, took it carefully and seized its outline with lazy gaze. Before his eyes flashed memory of Spain, playing on the same guitar. The sound of happy tunes and Antonio's warm voice echoed in his ears, almost like the Spaniard was right before him and was singing it once again.

_Dance, Romano, don't lose, Romano._

_I'll be right beside you,_

_So you don't have to be afraid of Turkey._

_So be at ease._

_Dance Romano, don't lose, Romano…_

Then South Italy's mind once again recalled the image of Spain completely washed off from his cheerfulness; image of Spain, who seemed to never be happy again. Romano clenched his fist on the guitar. No matter what, he won't let Antonio die. He won't let his beloved caretaker, his _father_, die.

* * *

"We're back!" Prussia exclaimed, entering with South Italy and France the hospital room. Seeing rather large group of guests, gathered on Spain's bed, he smirked and said: "Oh, nice menagerie."

"Hello, Gilbert." Hungary sent him cold look.

Romano, who was carrying Antonio's guitar in the holder on his back, took it off and leaned it to the Spaniard.

"I've brought your guitar as you wished."

"Thank you." Spain whispered and took the instrument, but then he just rested it on his lap.

Austria, on the other hand, directed his eyes on Spain. Roderich was observing Antonio's reactions on Feliciano and others, and he realized that Spanish man seemed to not like such loud and cheerful company. Maybe it wasn't best time for Antonio to have guests? But the Austrian wasn't sure, if he should tell others about it and order them to leave. However, now – when Romano, Francis and Gilbert was finally here – he and others could finally go away.

So Roderich stood up from the chair and with serious face said:

"Well, I guess it's time for us to go."

Feliciano and his friends looked at him, then the expression of disappointment appeared on their faces.

"But brother Spain…" Feliciano whined.

"Brother Spain is really tired, Italy. It's really late and he have to rest."

"Do you want us do go away, brother Spain?" North Italy asked.

Antonio's gaze dropped on the floor. He wanted them to leave, since they've came, but he just couldn't say it. The reason was quite simple – they didn't let him speak even once. Besides, his anger on the others chilled out a bit, so he didn't feel like he would scream on them or show any enmity to people, who just wanted to cheer him up.

"It's really nice that you've came." He finally spoke, smiling lightly. "But Roderich is right. I want to rest."

"Well then." Elizaveta stood up. A moment later others done the same. "Goodbye, Antonio, and recover soon." She tapped his shoulder.

Prussia opened the door and all guests left the room, waving to Antonio.

"Bye, brother Spain!"

"Get well soon, dude."

"I will get some sunflowers for you, da?"

"See you next time, Antonio."

They all were now on the hallway. Romano came to his little brother and held his hand.

"Thank you very much, Feli. You don't even know, how much I appreciate it."

"You welcome, big brother…" North Italy smiled wider.

He wanted to say something else, but suddenly he was interrupted by sounds of guitar, which were coming out from Spain's room. The melody sounded familiar to South Italy, Prussia and France, but they couldn't recall, where they've heard it. Listening this deeply melancholic tune, Hungary and America's eyes widened with shock, then they looked at each other with understanding.

"_Gloomy Sunday_…" Elizaveta said with expression of worry.

"Not good." America added.

And then Prussia's eyes snapped open with realization.

"That song…" He began and looked at both France and South Italy. "It was played, when we've found him."

They remembered it too. They couldn't quite remember whole lyrics, but they were recognizing the melody very well. France turned to Hungary and America.

"What's with this song?"

"It's called _Gloomy Sunday_." Elizaveta said and Alfred added:

"It's really depressing song."

"So?" Gilbert rose his brows.

"This song is about suicide." Alfred replied. "Many people in my place killed themselves, while listening it."

"What?!" Romano screamed.

"Brother Spain still want to do it?" Feliciano curled like he was afraid of something.

"He lost his will of life." Roderich said with sadness. "It will take awhile, until he will be fine once again. We can try to do our best, but a lot depends from him. Well then." He looked at Francis, Gilbert and Romano. "I have to go now, but I will call you later."

"OK." Gilbert nodded with understanding.

Austria turned back and started to leaving. After few seconds others also started to saying goodbye to them and wished them good luck. Romano gazed on the door. The melody of _Gloomy Sunday _could be still heard and it was filling his heart with worry and sadness. His heart suddenly became heavy, his body was cold inside.

"Antonio…" He whispered to himself.

* * *

**Yeah, it's the song Spain was singing to cure South Italy form chorea. Hey, don't blame me for this translation. It's from livejournal.**

**And yes - Spain and Greece has the lowest suicidal rating.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So I finally moved my ass and wrote another chapter of this fic. It's a bit more optimistic, but don't be fooled - next chapters won't be from now on all good and fluffy.**

**Chapter 5**

Spain was lazily packing himself. His friends offered to help him, but he said harshly that he will be fine. Now, alone in his room, he was unhurriedly placing his things in the suitcase and thinking that he will be home soon. But he didn't know if he should be happy or not. Sure, he didn't like the hospital, but his home also wasn't his favorite place right now. Right now whole world seemed to be unpleasant. There was no location, where he would feel happy or even comfortable.

Antonio heard, cracking of opening doors and someone came in, but he didn't turned around, thinking it must be Gilbert, Francis or Romano. And even if it was neither of them, he didn't care. Soon the mysterious visitor spoke.

"_To be or not to be? That is the question._"

Spain quickly recognized England's voice. However, he didn't turn to him. He didn't even give any response.

"So you decided, just like that, to kill yourself?" Arthur's tone was mocking. "What happened with famous Spanish Optimism?"

Spain still remained silent. He just closed the suitcase and stayed turned back to England.

"Romano once told me something really interesting." Arthur continued. "He told me a little story about you, catching a cold…"

Antonio didn't have to turning back, he could easily imagine smirk of mockery on this damn Englishman's face, when he was saying those words. Spain's mind returned to that day. Day before he accepted euro, day, when he was thinking, it will be his end, but he didn't want to die.

"You've sent people to Alfred and Kiku, but it didn't work. Your condition kept getting worse and worse. You were ready to die. And you only regretted one thing…" Suddenly his tone changed to more serious. Antonio froze, when sudden realization hit him. After short pause Arthur said: "That you hadn't kicked mine and Alfred's ass, before you could gone."

Antonio heard steps. Arthur approached him, he was now standing few inched from him. Was he going to say something? Or maybe he was waiting for his – Spain's – response? Anyway, Spain remained silent.

"So you don't want to punish me for pirates, who destroyed your empire? You don't want to kick my ass? Great Kingdom of Spain won't be fighting with me?"

Antonio finally turned back to him, sending him bored gaze. But he still hadn't said anything. Arthur's face, on the other hand, was serious, almost sad. His bushy brows frowned with annoyance, when he spoke quietly:

"I challenge you. Show me, you're better in whatever you want. If you will commit suicide that will be automatically mean, you gave up."

Spain's eyes widened with surprise. Then England – just like that – went out from the room, leaving astonished Spain alone. On the hallway Prussia, France and South Italy, who had heard everything, looked at passing them by England.

"Nice idea, Artie." Gilbert smirked, when Arthur was too far from them, to hear him. "Hope, it will help somehow."

Romano looked at him with wide eyes.

"What? I don't understand how England would help Spain!"

Francis turned his eyes on the Italian.

"_Angleterre_ played on Antonio's ambitions. Challenging him, he gave Spain reason to live."

"Or at least he attempted to. We will see later, how it will end up."

Then Prussia opened the door to room 25. It seemed that Spain was ready to go. On his bed was laying packed suitcase and holder with guitar.

"Are you ready to go?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes." Antonio whispered.

He took holder in one hand and suitcase in the other, but Gilbert quickly ran to him and grabbed the suitcase. Then he slammed affectionate his shoulder and smirked.

"Hey, cheer up! We're going to make you paella."

* * *

They were riding to Spain's house in awkward silence. From time to time South Italy, Prussia or France (who was driving) tried to break it by starting some nice conversation, but it always ended with Antonio not responding and then this awkward silence was coming again. The atmosphere was tense and depressing, as rest of this few days from Antonio's suicidal attempt. Francis, Romano and Gilbert wondered if they'll manage to help their friend and not gone crazy.

All three of them felt relieved, when the car finally arrived to Spain's house. Prussia took Spaniard's baggage, while South Italy drew out a key from his pocket and opened widely the door, letting others in. Soon they were standing in the hallway, wondering what to do next. Romano, Francis and Gilbert knew that whatever they were going to do, someone had to stay with Antonio to keep him company and see if he didn't want to do something stupid.

"So, I will harvest tomatoes." Romano said and quickly ran outside.

"I will prepare food." Francis added and dashed to the kitchen.

"What the hell? You're leaving me alone?" Gilbert screamed angrily.

"You can go now." Spain said suddenly. Prussia looked at him with surprise. "I don't need you, anyway."

For a moment Gilbert felt ashamed of his action. What kind of signal he just gave Antonio? Now he was probably thinking the Prussian don't want to be in the same room as he. Prussia gazed at Spain with determination.

"Oh no, dude!" Prussia exclaimed. "You aren't in shape to be left alone."

"I'll be fine, really." There was some weird uneasiness in his voice.

"Come on, Antonio. We will take your luggage to your room and do something awesome."

He started to going up the stairs to Antonio's bedroom. The Spaniard was walking after him all the time. Hearing his slow, quiet steps was making Gilbert weird. He couldn't resist the impression that his friend was like a ghost. Even looking at him was making Gilbert terrified. But Prussia wanted to bring Spain come back to life no matter what. Just like Spain brought him to life many times in the past.

Gilbert turned back to look at his friend. Antonio immediately stopped and put his surprised gaze on him. For a moment they were observing each other in silence. Gilbert thought that it was so wrong – for Antonio's face to not grin. Then Prussia smiled softly and said:

"Cheer up, Antonio. You look awesome, when you're smiling."

"Just go already, Prussia." Spain responded coldly.

Gilbert grimed and finally reached the door to Antonio's room. Spain opened it lazily. Prussia leaned the luggage on the wall, while his companion seized whole room with his sad eyes. At first sight there was nothing unusual, but Spain quickly realized that all sharp and glass things had been removed from the place. Especially his beloved axe was missing.

Antonio turned his angry gaze on Gilbert.

"Where is my axe?"

"I don't know, but you won't need it, anyway."

"Where. Is. My. Axe?" He muttered with more anger.

"I said, I don't know. Geez, Romano was here. You should ask him."

But Spain didn't ran on the tomato field. He only sighed and fell on the bed. He didn't want to go anywhere or doing anything. Apathy enveloped him and he didn't want to move from his bed. He looked at Prussia, who was still standing on the same spot and observing him with worried expression.

"Could you go already? I want to be alone." Antonio said, his voice filled with irritation.

Gilbert didn't respond. He only sat on the edge of bed and smiled to Antonio, who sighed even deeper with annoyance.

"Are you deaf?" He asked angrily. "Go away."

"No, Antonio. I won't leave you like that."

"I don't want your pity, I don't want your comfort, I don't want your sympathy, I don't want anything from you, Gilbert. Get out."

Gilbert saddened and gave Antonio cheerless look. Then he gazed at the wall and finally spoke again.

"If I knew, what you were thinking back then, I wouldn't say anything about this cash."

Spain looked at him with surprise. Their eyes met again.

"I was such an idiot." Prussia's voice was calm and sad. "Five backs aren't worth a life of friend. Especially a friend like you."

Antonio didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He was still mad at Gilbert, but the thing he heard just now made his heart twitch with this warm feeling of hearing something nice about himself. Prussia continued:

"Whenever I or anybody else needed comfort, you were coming and cheering that person up with this happy-go-lucky attitude of yours."

When was the last time, when someone had said about him something like that? Generally they were calling him dense idiot or tomato bastard. Gilbert's tone was sincere. He really meant what he just said. Antonio's heart started to melt and he even blushed with shyness. He listened. He wanted to hear more compliments about himself.

"You always had this ability to be happy no matter what." Prussia smiled to him. "It was your strength. One of things that always was making me proud of knowing such man. Of knowing someone, who can't be broken by some stupid economic crisis or pirates." Then his smile faded away. "But I guess, even you have your limits. Even you can't be happy all the time. Even you can break down and lose your will of life. It's a shame that we were so ignorant, but now, when we know, we won't let you die. Because world without Spain, is a really sad world."

For a moment Spain didn't say anything. He only observed Prussia with lazy gaze. Gilbert stood up to sit on the chair at the desk to leave Antonio some space, but suddenly he heard behind himself silent, barely hearable whisper:

"Thanks a lot."

Stunned Prussia turned around to look at his friend. Maybe he expected on Spaniard's face familiar grin, but he saw only small twitch, barely qualified as a smile. Then Antonio returned to his previous gloomy expression, rested his head on the pillow and his arm – on the forehead. Antonio closed eyes. He wanted to sleep, take a short nap to run away from reality. He was horribly tired, even if he didn't do much today.

Gilbert sat at the desk and tried to be really quiet to not disturb his friend. In silence, only with sleeping Antonio, room he had time to think. He was scared, but he would never admit it. He didn't want to think, what could happen if they won't succeed. His head was filled with various horrible scenarios. Prussia knew that he, France and South Italy had to be vigilant. Just because they've removed from Span's house dangerous objects, it didn't mean he was save. Desperate suicidal will, for sure, find a way to end with himself, even without any knives, glass, guns, poison or ropes. First they had to bring back Antonio's will of life.

Spain was sleeping for two hours, until South Italy didn't burst into his room to tell him and Prussia that dinner is ready. Antonio opened eyes lazily. He didn't want to eat anything or even move from his bed, but he knew how stubborn Romano can be. So Spain sat unhurriedly on his cot and wiped his eyes. Then he, South Italy and Prussia went down in silence to the living room, where France just ended preparing the table. Antonio quickly realized that Francis didn't lie about making paella. First the familiar scent hit Spaniard's nostrils, when he left his bedroom, then, when he finally came to living room, he saw his national dish on the table.

Antonio took a seat in front of Francis, Gilbert sat beside their host and now they were only waiting for Romano, who quickly came to kitchen. When he returned, he was holding in his hand basket filled with tomatoes. They all looked at him and froze, while their eyes widened with surprise. Romano stopped in the door frame, seeing this reaction.

"What?" He asked. "I wanted to show Spain his tomatoes."

"But we're having dinner right now, Romano, so be nice and wait until we end eating." Francis replied.

"Yeah, you have this stupid obsession with tomatoes." Gilbert added. "What's so special about them? They're just a fruit."

"Vegetable, idiot." The Italian said harshly. "And you're eating mostly wurst and potatoes, so don't judge me."

"Feliciano also eats potatoes." France said. "And cheese, and sausages, and many other things, you don't want to eat, because other people find it edible. You should taste some of my fabulous cuisine from time to time."

"And let you poison me? No fucking way, French bastard!" South Italy screamed. His face became red.

"Well, you should eat something prepared by England." France replied. "His cuisine is poisoned, not mine. My food is the most delicious in the whole world, so leave those tomatoes already and join to us."

Romano became even redder.

"First of all, pervert," He started. "paella isn't your invention, but Spain's. Secondly: I know, what are you planning and don't even think, I will ever fall into your trap."

"I've made today's dinner, so it's mine paella."

"If you say so, it's just a waste of food!"

"Mon ami, if you won't eat it willingly, I will feed you myself."

"Oh, yeah? Try it!"

Francis wanted to say something, but suddenly he, Romano and Gilbert heard laugh, which started with silent giggle, but became louder and louder with every second. Astonished, all of them looked at Antonio, who was laughing so hard that he leaned comfortably his back on the chair, putting his arms on the belly.

South Italy, Prussia and France couldn't believe their eyes. They wanted to ask Spain, what happened, but he soon responded, still laughing like crazy:

"Romano, you look like a tomato!" He started to cry from laughter. "And… and you're holding tomatoes! I… I'm sorry, but it's so funny…!"

Romano never thought that he will ever be happy of being called tomato. For the first time since such a long time, Antonio was laughing, showing his older, cheerful self. Three men at the table felt sudden increase of hope, seeing their gloomy friend in good mood. There was a chance to bring Antonio back to his happy-go-lucky state of mind. There was a chance to make him happy again.

However, they knew it wasn't simple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the mistakes. I will beta this chapter later, now I'm to exhaused (It's half past nine pm in my place).**

**Chapter 6**

When – after filled with restlessness sleep – Antonio's eyes opened, he realized that it was still night. Romano, Gilbert and Francis had fallen asleep long time ago, probably sure that their friend was also sleeping peacefully in his own bed. Spain seized his place. In spite of darkness, everything was looking serene and warm. In his own room Antonio should feel safe and comfortable. It was, after all, a place, where he could rest, work, eat and do his hobby. But it was also a place, which had seen his slowly sulking into depression. In those four walls he spent long, painful days and nights. In this room – _his_ room – his will of life faded away.

Now he was rolling his eyes from one covered in darkness object to another, and thinking in the silence of the night. To be honest, today's burst of laughter made him wonder if his state improved somehow. True – he felt a bit happier back then. The thought about tomato face of Romano, who in addition was holding in his hand a basket of tomatoes, was something he couldn't help to not laugh about. The whole situation was for him completely and utterly hilarious, even if someone else could find it just ordinary scene.

It was Antonio's first sincere laugh since few months. For the first time since months he felt how his stomach was tickling and his lips twitching up in smile. It was really nice feeling. Long time ago he could laugh because of silly things like Romano's angry face resembling tomato, turtles running in his garden, funny music, or something that Francis or Gilbert said.

So had his today's laughter meant, he was returning to norm? It was only one really short moment, only a minute, maybe even less. And then his gloomy thoughts returned, but this time it was somehow different. This time desperate want of death was fighting in back of his head with this memory of sudden and short feeling of happiness. Maybe he only needed few laughs like this to stand up on his own legs? Maybe he should try again to be happy of little things? But then he was looking around dark bedroom and suddenly remembering about feelings that was coming to him in these long, lonely days, spent in his own room. Loneliness. Helplessness. Sorrow. Ever present depression. And temptation of easy death. And there was something else, something more subtle. Lyrics of an old, melancholic song, played on and on in his mind.

_Sunday is Gloomy,_

_My hours are slumberless,_

_Dearest, the shadows_

_I live with are numberless._

_Little white flowers_

_will never awaken you_

_Not where the black coach of sorrow_

_has taken you…_

Spain sat up and moved the cover. His toes touched the floor, but for a moment he was only observing it, hearing only silence, which made him sure he was completely alone right now. There was a secret drawer under the cupboard in the living room. In that drawer was lying an old gun from Spanish Civil War. France, Italy and Prussia was sleeping in other rooms, so if he would be careful enough, maybe he would be able to…

_Angels have no thought_

_of ever returning you_

_Would they be angry_

_if I thought of joining you_

_Gloomy Sunday_

He stood up. His legs was particularly moving on their own, leading him to the door. He rested his hand on the knob and carefully opened it. Door hadn't even cracked. Spain came out and suddenly found himself in the hallway. It was hard to move in the dark of the night, but Antonio remembered, how his house was looking in the daylight, besides his eyes were used to darkness after few minutes of observing everything in his room. His hand automatically rested on the rail and he slowly started to moving forward. The only thing, he could hear was his soft, carefully taken steps. Soon he began to walking down the stairs, still making barely hearable sounds.

He was feeling like a thief. His heart was pounding quickly, his muscles were tense. He tried to calm himself down, repeating in his mind that Romano, Francis and Gilbert have a really strong slumber and it's hard to wake them up, when they will finally fall asleep. He focused on the drawer and on the gun, who was promising him so longed death.

_Sunday is gloomy_

_with shadows I spend it all_

_My heart and I have decided_

_to end it all…_

He finally was down. He directed to the living room, still walking carefully to not wake his guests. When he was approaching the cupboard, he was excited, like during his first suicidal attempt. But tonight it will be end for sure. No one will disturb him. He will take the gun and only one move of the trigger will be separating him from peace.

He opened the right drawer and removed it entirely from the cupboard. There was a small shelf, but the darkness of the room made it impossible to see it or what was inside it. Span leaned his back and put there his hand. Soon his fingers felt the cold and hard touch of the gun, so they've clenched around the hold of the pistol and Antonio drew it out from the hidden.

_Soon there'll be candles_

_and prayers that are sad,_

_I know, let them not weep,_

_Let them know that I'm glad to go…_

Spain put the pistol to his temple and rested his pointing finger on the trigger. He could hear how his heart was pounding even quicker than before, but he was standing still in the middle of the living room and pointing gun at his own head. Only one move of finger, only one, and he will fall into eternal slumber. He didn't care what will happen next – who will find his body, or will that person try to save him. However, the image of nations crying on his funeral was making him warm inside.

_Death is no dream,_

_For in death I'm caressing you_

_With the last breath of my soul_

_I'll be blessing you_

_Gloomy Sunday…_

It was time. Spain loaded the gun with thumb. His pointing finger (which was trembling a little, but Antonio didn't know if it was because of excitement or hesitation) unhurriedly pulled the trigger and…

Nothing.

Nothing happened. Spain thought he will hear the gun and die, then his dead body will fall on the ground and blood from his temple will be slowly soaking the floor of living room. But nothing like this happened. There was no sound of gunshot, no body falling on the floor, no blood. He was still alive. His finger started to pull the trigger on and on, wanting desperately to hear a shot, but the outcome was the same – nothing. The gun was empty.

"Looking for an ammo?" Someone's voice, filled with mockery, broke the silence.

Spain's eyes rolled slowly on the door to the hallway, where was standing Prussia with his usual smirk. But then Gilbert's smile faded away and the Prussian came in to the living room. He stood in front of Spain, caught his hand and, carefully unhooking Antonio's fingers from the pistol, he took away a gun from his hand and rested it on the top of the cupboard. Spain was observing him with wide eyes. He couldn't move from his spot. He failed. He had thought, Prussia, France and Italy didn't find his gun, but they did and just left it without ammunition.

Then Prussia's arm landed on his shoulder.

"Come on, dude." Gilbert said, seriousness still present on his face. He started to lead his friend back to bed. Spain let him do it. Suddenly he didn't have any strength to resist. "You need to rest."

"I can't sleep." Spain whispered. Then he stopped and looked at Prussia. "Can you sit with me and watch something in TV?"

Gilbert looked at Antonio with surprised gaze, but then his eyes softened and he smiled friendly, saying:

"Of course."

They turn on the light and sat on the couch in front of TV. Prussia took the pilot and soon they could see a chat show. Seeing that Antonio isn't interested in it even a bit (and not understanding even one word from what they were saying), Gilbert changed channel. Now they were watching some documentary about bugs. On other channel were: program about cooking, news and repeats of drama serials.

"What happened to the good, old porn?" Prussia asked with irritation, but then he smirked in Spain's direction. "Is there anything you want to watch or I can turn it off."

"Well…" Spain rolled his eyes on the floor.

Did he want to watch anything in the TV? Honestly there was nothing interesting for him, but he was afraid that turning television off will be equal with letting Gilbert leave. And Antonio didn't want to be left alone. Not after months of loneliness. Funny thing – just this afternoon he wanted to be by himself, but now it seemed, he needed someone's company. Few minutes earlier he tried to kill himself. He was holding gun and pointing it at his temple, ready to pull the trigger. Now he was sitting with Prussia and jumping from other channel to another. And Gilbert's presence was something soothing. Antonio wanted to keep him close.

After short thinking Spain looked at Prussia and answered his question.

"No, turn it off. Let's talk instead."

"OK." Was Prussia's reply. He raised his hand, turned TV off with one smooth move and looked at Spain again. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know." Antonio shrugged. "And you?"

"We can always talk about awesome me." Gilbert smirked. But then he got serious and added: "Or you can tell me, how are you feeling now?"

For a moment Spain was silent, avoiding Prussia's gaze. Before he could answer, Gilbert said rapidly:

"Of course I'm not forcing you to anything. If you aren't ready to open yourself, you can wait until…"

"I'm fine, Gilbert." He responded, finally looking Prussia into eyes. "I know that what happened few minutes ago could scare you, but now I'm feeling a lot better. You know," His face suddenly lit up, but only a bit. "I haven't been on corrida since ages. It would be nice to go some time."

"Not bad idea, although watching small guy in tights, who is constantly pissing off a bull, isn't as exciting as I first thought." After saying these words Gilbert slammed Antonio's shoulder and said: "Don't worry. We will go on one corrida for sure. Hey, do you remember how Francis had been attacked by bull?"

Spain's smile became a bit wider.

"Yeah, but Francis' ass remember it the best."

They started to talk about random things, mostly about old days. Prussia was the one, who was bursting into laughter from time to time, Spain was only giggling nervously, even if closeness of his friend was helping him to not think about suicide. After two hours both men felt tired. Gilbert led Antonio to his bedroom and go sleep on his own. They still had few hours to the morning, and since Francis and Romano didn't like waking up early as much as Gilbert and Antonio did, they knew, they will going to sleep well.

Gilbert was sure that he cheered Antonio up, but he was wrong. Because when Spain found himself again in his room, came into his bed and looked around, he had heard once again familiar lyrics:

_Sunday is Gloomy,_

_My hours are slumberless,_

_Dearest, the shadows_

_I live with are numberless…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

There was an awkward silence. Antonio didn't blame them – after all he wanted to commit suicide last night. It's hardy possible to get into everyday order after something like that. Of course – they tried to start a little chit-chat with him about something random and cheerful, but he wasn't saying much. Maybe they thought that breakfast wasn't the best moment to ask him, why he was pointing gun at his temple.

"Romano," Spain began. "I want to harvest rest of tomatoes today."

South Italy stopped eating breakfast, looked at his former caretaker and raised his eyebrow. France and Prussia also put their gaze on friend.

"Are you sure, you want to do this?" Romano asked after short pause.

"_Si_." Antonio nodded. "If you do it alone, it will take you eternity. Besides," He added with light smile. "I want to spend some time with my tomatoes."

"Well then," Romano started with his usual serious face. "eat your breakfast, change into something more casual and we will go to the garden."

"It's good, you want to go outside." Francis said with grin. "You need some fresh air."

Antonio only smiled and returned to his breakfast.

* * *

Spain and South Italy stood in front of Spain's tomato field. It wasn't really big, but the sticks with tomatoes were quite long – they could reach Antonio's shoulder. Even if Italy was working there the other day, there was still a lot to do. Few rows, which were placed more in the middle, were barely touched.

Both Romano and his host had wore short jeans, white shirts and straw hats. Both men were holding empty baskets. South Italy turned to Spain and said:

"Are you ready?"

"_Si_." Spain said quietly.

"Well, then." Romano replied and went on field. "Tomatoes are waiting."

Without saying a word Spain moved towards field. When South Italy was fallowing him, he suddenly felt like a child again. Back then tomato bushes seemed to be a lot taller and he was also lost many times, when he changed his way and couldn't find Spain. But in the end Antonio always manage to get to him. With wide smile he was taking him by hand and leading to their home, saying: "Come on, Romano. Don't cry, boss Spain is here…" And Romano was always yelling at him that he wasn't crying even a bit, although he was.

They've got to place, where there was a lot of not yet harvested tomatoes, so both men began to put them into baskets. South Italy spent a lot of nice mornings and afternoons, helping Spain harvesting them and learning, how to do it. He remembered that Spain couldn't shut up. He had to say something, he had to laugh, he had to hum some melody, he had try make some conversation with Romano, even when infant was constantly telling him to "shut the hell up" or he will "beat him up into pulp". Of course, it wasn't making any effect on Antonio, beside laugh and comment: "Your face looks like a tomato!"

But this time Spain was silent. He wasn't even looking at South Italy. He was just bowing under tomatoes and putting them into basked. Romano didn't like that. It seemed to be so foreign to him, so far from the way he used to harvest tomatoes with Antonio. He waited for him to say something, but there was only silence. And when Romano was looking at him, he could see only a man focused on his work, although Antonio's pale skin and definitely not very cheerful expression were making him look like a shadow of himself. He wondered what was on Spain's mind, when he was bowing under stick with ripe tomatoes and putting them one by one to his basket.

Finally Romano couldn't take this silence anymore and decided to break it:

"You used to be more talkative, when we were younger."

Antonio stopped in the middle of reaching for another tomato. He took one glance at Romano and returned to work. After a short moment of silence, he finally responded:

"I don't have much to talk about."

"You always had much to talk about, Antonio. It was hard to shut you up."

"Well then, you should be happy by now." Spain gave him a small, sad smile. "You were always yelling at me to be quiet."

For a moment Romano didn't say anything, searching for any proper response. After few seconds he smiled to himself and said:

"So this time _I_ will be talking for a change." And then he started: "Do you think that wine bastard will make escargot this time?"

Spain didn't respond. Meanwhile they moved to the next row, where new tomatoes were waiting for harvesting. South Italy was expecting from his former caretaker something like: "Romano, don't call Francis like that. He's my friend.", but it didn't came. Italy didn't know, how to make Spain talk. Guess, he had to try talking to him about random things, hoping that it make Spain a little bit more cheerful.

"Hey, Spain, do you remember that crazy book, you were obsessed with in 17th century? This one about that guy, who was fighting with windmills? You were reading it to me every night, although I was thinking, it's dumb. And you've done something more stup… I mean awkward." He quickly corrected himself to not make Spain upset. "You decided to play Don Kichot and I was your Sancho Pansa." He giggled lightly and looked at Antonio, who also chuckled lightly and sent him soft smile.

But then Romano's eyes spotted cuts on Antonio's arms and suddenly he grimed. Spain returned to work, but Italy didn't. He was just standing on the field and observing his former caretaker. He remembered covered with blood kitchen knife.

_Some of those scars on his arm are quite old…_

_Romano, you should be careful with knives. You can cut yourself or even something worse…_

_All this time you couldn't see that I wasn't as cheerful as always; that I was hiding something; that my smiles were fake! I was hoping that you will see it, but it never happened! You never even realized that something was wrong with me! And who is now dense idiot?_

He remembered that last night Spain wanted to shoot himself. He remembered that not long time ago Spain was hanged on his lamp and he almost died. And when Romano was observing him, harvesting tomatoes in silence, he could see how broken Antonio was. Pale and cheerless, for sure he had some gloomy thoughts on mind. Romano wanted to cry, to hug him, tell him everything will be OK, but he didn't. When Spain gave him weird look, South Italy only returned to work. He tried many times to cheer Antonio up, but it lasted only for a couple of minutes and then Spain was gloomy again.

* * *

After supper Antonio decided to go to bed. He came to his room. Romano fallowed after him to watch him, while Gilbert and Francis were washing dishes in the kitchen. He opened the door to Spain's room, when the man was unbuttoning his shirt. Seeing South Italy, Spain froze, but then he gave him sharp look.

"Why you came here?" He asked angrily. "I want to change into my pajama, so I need some privacy."

"Hey, don't tell me you're shy. We're both guys, besides I've seen you without shirt many times."

Spain only sighed and turned his gaze, looking at the sky outside the window. It was cloudless, so the stars and the full moon were clearly seen on navy blue firmament. He was standing just like that and observing the view. South Italy, on the other hand, was silent for a few minutes. Spain seemed to think about something deeply, while looking at this moon. And Italy was wondering what he was just thinking about, but at the same time Romano didn't want to ask him and destroy the momentum.

Finally Antonio had turned to him and said:

"There is an old tale, Mexico had told me long time ago." He paused and looked once again on the moon. "An old Aztec legend. When earth had been destroyed for the fourth time and new life appeared on it, people needed a new Sun. It could be obtained if one of the gods became one by jumping into big fire. So all gods gathered in Teotihuacan to decide about it. One of the gods, Tecuciztecatl, said that he is the greatest god of them all, so he should become the Sun. Although, nobody wanted to agree with him, they set the fire on and waited for him to jump. But Tecucitecatl was, in fact, a coward. Once they told him to jump, he was making excuses to avoid this fate. So the wise and liked god Nanahuatzin had ran right in the fire instead of Tecuciztecatl and became a new Sun. Seeing it, Tecuciztecatl felt so ashamed that he had done the same, becoming a new Moon. Other gods were glad of this turn of event, until one of them pointed at the Sun and said: 'Hey, it's not moving!' Nanahuatzin had sacrificed himself, but now he wanted other gods to do it before he will start to walk through the sky. So they gone to the god Quetzalcoatl and one by one were letting their hearts to be pulled out. Once the sacrifice had been done, Sun began to walk on the sky and never stopped."

"Creepy story." Romano commented. Antonio turned to him and smiled sadly.

"I couldn't resist. It just… popped in my head, when I saw this moon." He pointed it with his eyes. Then he became serious and returned to unbuttoning his shirt. "I wonder, how it would be like if my heart had been pulled out from my chest."

South Italy wasn't much shocked by this statement, but he didn't like it. Meanwhile Spain left his shirt on the chair and put the upper part of pajama on himself. Then he started to pulling off his jeans.

"I would like to see, how my heart looks like. For sure I would struggle a little bit and screaming. After all it wouldn't be some ordinary pain. It would be rather like an operation without painkillers, but the outcome would be only one – death." He chuckled. "I'm sure Mexico wanted to do it to me many times."

An image of Spain being sacrificed by some jackass Aztec priest, made South Italy mad. How could Antonio think about such death with so calm voice? He was seeing that kinds of horrors, when he was in the New World. Back then he was shocked by it and he tried really hard to baptize all of those pagans to stop those barbaric practices. And now he wanted to willingly take a part of sacrifice in this kind of bloodthirsty ceremony ? Oh, God… Was Spain so desperate to die that he didn't care what kind of death it would be? Was those the thoughts he was thinking all this time?

Romano felt like something inside him is breaking. When he looked at Antonio, who already put on himself a pants of his pajama, he couldn't help himself, but came closer to his former caretaker and with one quick move pulled him into a hug. Spain was so astonished that he didn't know what to do, so he was just standing there and letting himself being hugged. After all it's not usual being embraced by South Italy.

"Do you think it's funny?" He whispered to Antonio's ear. "Not at all."

Then he broke the embrace and looked into his eyes.

"Remember one thing, tomato bastard: I won't let you die in such stupid way. Even if I had to be called tomato by you to the end of the world. It's nothing compared to being abandon by you, boss."

He smiled, leaving the room and still astonished Spain.


	8. Chapter 8

**OK, before you will read, I have to warn you: this chapter has some religious content, so if you are fighting atheist, who will be flaming me for it, you can skip this chapter or don't read it at all. Maybe, I'm a little paranoid with this warning, but I put it anyway, just for safety.**

**Now, thank you. Enjoy the chapter and leave a comment.**

**Chapter 8**

Vatican's patience was reaching its limit, while he kept hitting the door to Spain's house. His heart was pounding quickly with nervousness, he had to face a broken man after all. Whole previous evening he was thinking, what he will tell Antonio; he planned this visit to the tiniest detail and now there was no turning back. As a capital of Catholic World, Angelo Vargas had to bring relief and comfort to other nations and there was no way he will let Spain sulk in his depression.

Finally door had been opened by France. He looked at Vatican with skeptical eye. Angelo straightened himself, chocked twice and said:

"I've came to Antonio."

"I don't doubt it, but I'm not sure if I should let you in."

"Listen up: I know you're secular state and all, but it doesn't mean, I don't have right to help Spain my way."

"And how you want to help him? Tell him that he will go to hell, if he won't cheer up?"

"No, I'm not going to threaten him with images of hell. I want to take him on a little trip and peacefully talk. Don't you know that faith can be great comfort?"

Suddenly Romano appeared in the hallway inside the house. Seeing Angelo, the Italian froze for a moment.

"Angelo? What are you doing here?" He finally spoke. Vatican looked at him.

"I've came here to help Antonio, but that guy," He pointed at France. "has an objections."

"Wine bastard, let him in." South Italy said harshly. Francis turned his head to him.

"Are you sure? He will make exorcisms on Antonio."

"No, he won't, bastard. I know him. Now let Angelo in."

France reluctantly moved aside and Vatican came in. South Italy led him to the living room, where Spain and Prussia were sitting at the table. Gilbert was talking about something, Antonio was listening without much interest, but when they saw Angelo, Gilbert silenced and they both looked with surprise at Vaticanian.

"God bless you." He said to them.

"Hi, Vatican." Prussia waved to him.

"Yeah, hi." Spain responded weakly.

Angelo slowly pulled out one of the chair and sat beside Antonio. For a moment he was only observing the Spaniard with light smile. He couldn't miss Spain's paler than usual skin, dull eyes and half-healed wounds on his wrist. Depression was painted all over Spain's body, which only confirmed Vatican's suspicion. As most of nations, Angelo remembered Antonio as a cheerful man, who can be happy in worst situations, and now Angelo hardly believed his own eyes.

This view of broken Spain, motivated him to go straight to the point of his visit. Vatican cleared his throat, rested hand on Antonio's shoulder, looked into his eyes and said:

"I've came here, Antonio, to take you on the trip."

Spain's eyebrows rose with light surprise.

"Trip?" He asked.

"Yes." Vatican replied and smiled at him again. "Don't worry, it will take us an hour, maybe two."

"Where you want to take him exactly?" France was a bit suspicious. Vatican rolled his gaze on him.

"To the church." Was his answer.

"I should have known!" Gilbert smirked. "But I guess, it won't harm anybody, if you try, Angelo."

"So how are you feeling about it, Antonio?" Vatican returned to Spain, sending him another smile.

Antonio was a bit confused by this question. He didn't know, what was Angelo's point in taking him to church. Probably he wanted to tell him there that suicide is an mortal sin and that if Spain was succeed with his attempt, he would be burning in hell right now. Or he could start from the other way – he could say that Jesus loves every creature and that Spain should find joy and sense of life in Jesus Christ. Antonio didn't want to hear it. He didn't care about hellfire or comfort in Jesus. All he wanted is peace and it could be eternal peace as well.

But he hadn't said anything. He was just staring at the table in front of him, which was rather confusing for four other nations in the room.

"You know, Angelo." South Italy started, breaking the silence. "You can take him. I think, it will make him better."

"Yeah, but you have to return before down." Prussia added.

"And what about you, Francis?" Vatican turned to France. "Do you have any objections about our little trip?"

"No" France said, rather unsure. But then he added with more confidence: "Nothing."

Suddenly Spain realized that something is missing him. They were talking about him, like he just agreed on this trip with Vatican.

"But I have." He finally spoke and even stood up from his seat. "I don't want to move from my place. Especially, to some stupid church. I don't want to hear your rumbling about hell for suicidals."

"I wasn't going to even mention about hell." Vatican said calmly. "I was rather planning something… reflective."

"Go with him, Antonio." Gilbert was trying to convince him.

"And you hadn't moved from here, since you returned from hospital." Francis added.

"Come on, tomato bastard." Romano said and caught Antonio's arm. "You have to go out."

All three of them dragged him to Angelo's car. Antonio was struggling and screaming to let him go, but they were too strong. Angelo opened door to his car and they sat their victim on the passenger side and fastened seatbelt on his waist. Before Spain could free himself from belt and run out from the car, Vatican turned it on and quickly drove on the road way.

"Good luck!" Prussia called after them, while he, France and Italy was waving their hands.

* * *

Vatican City choose some small church in Barcelona. At first, when Angelo parked on the sidewalk near it, Antonio didn't want to go out. He was just sitting on his seat with arms crossed on his chest and trying not to make an eye contact with Angelo. But the Vaticanian wasn't going to give up.

"I know that it was sudden." He began. "But I promise, I will leave you alone, once it will end. We will go there, do what we must to do and I will drive you home."

Spain turned his head to Vatican and looked at him with sadness that was so strange in those usually cheerful eyes. He felt numb, actually he didn't want to do anything. He was too tired to resist. He rather preferred to stay here, on his own in Vatican's car. But he wasn't protesting, when Angelo unfastened his seatbelt, went out from the car and after few seconds opened its door from Antonio's side.

"Come on. God is waiting." He said to him.

_God… Dios…_ In Spain's mind appeared an image of the old man with long, white beard and calm, merciful eyes. He was inviting him to His house, calling him like a father is calling child to his side. There was a time, in his childhood years, when Antonio was praying to Him every day and every night; when he was doing everything to be good boy and deserve to go to Heaven; when he was asking God for something, what seemed to be impossible to do in normal way. It was childish faith and after few years it changed into something more mature. He was believing like adults believe.

Long time ago it all had some sense to him.

So Antonio decided to finally go out, to the great joy of Angelo. When Spain stood on the sidewalk, Vatican closed his car and both men went to the church. Since it was middle of the week, the temple was silent and empty. They both dipped their right hands in sacred water at the entrance, made a sign of cross and gone deeper into the church. Angelo led Antonio to one of the benches and they both sat there.

In front of them was big cross with statue of Christ, hung on it. Walls were covered with light yellow paint, ceiling was white, supported by ionic columns. The sunlight was getting into church through the stained glass. It was rather new, neoclassical church, small compared to Sagrada Familia, but still big on its own.

After short moment of silence between the two, Vatican smiled and slammed Spain's shoulder.

"I will leave you alone with Him." He said, pointing at the cross.

Then he stood up and directed to the nearest confessional. To Spain's surprise, he opened its doors, sat inside and closed it. Suddenly Spain felt left alone. He moved his eyes back on the cross. The first thing, which came to his mind, was blood on the statue of the Christ. Blood around nails that pinned Jesus' limbs to the cross; blood on His left flank, wounded by soldier's spire; little drops of blood on Savor's head, crowned by thorns.

Antonio leaned before himself his filled with cuts arms and was observing it for a moment. Not so long time ago they were covered in blood too. He needed to get his pain out, take it from the inside to the outside. But in the same time he wanted someone to see those emblems of his emotional suffering and it was aching him even more, when no one noticed it in the end.

He raised his head to look again on the cross. Now, when he thought about it, there was one Witness of his pain. One Person, who was observing his depression from the very beginning to this moment. But the presence of that Person was hardly perceptible.

_God…_

_Dios…_

And now, when he was looking on this statue – on this wounded body, eyes filled with agony and face that was showing nothing else, but pain – he couldn't resist the impression that there was some kind of connection between both of them. But then he pushed that thought away. Jesus suffered and died to save whole world from sin, while Spain was tried to kill himself for his own reasons – he didn't want to save anyone, but himself. The idea that their agonies were the same, was blasphemous in some way.

Antonio bowed his head. God had seen him sinking in this depression. He had seen him cutting his arms and desperately looking for help from other nations. Finally He had seen him trying to hang himself. Spain looked again at the cross. At first he felt anger and bitterness. If God is almighty and endlessly merciful, why he hadn't done anything to help him? If He was seeing all his pain, why He even let him feel it?

But then Spain remembered France, South Italy and Prussia bursting into his bedroom, when he was hanging on the lamp and waiting for death to come. He remembered their desperate tries to make him breathe again. Why they came in nearly last minute? Not so long time before his suicidal attempt they couldn't even see his pain, so why they appeared, when he wanted to kill himself? He wanted their help and their help had finally come. He was in some way lucky – after all not every suicidal is saved from death. If Francis, Romano and Gilbert had got to him few seconds later or if they hadn't gone to his house at all, he would be dead right now. Maybe… maybe it was a work of Providence…

Suddenly Antonio realized that there was Holy Bible lying on the bench in front of him. From pure curiosity he took it and opened on random page. He started to read in silent the first fragment, his eyes caught:

_You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven…_

Spain remembered this fragment. It was probably a part of Sermon on the Mount. Of course, those words meant, people should give each other good example (that's how Spain interpreted this fragment long time ago), but somehow in this time and situation it had slightly different meaning. _You are the light of the world…_ Like world itself was less worth without him. Antonio smiled to himself, but then he saddened, remembering similar words: _Because world without Spain, is a really sad world._

And he suddenly felt just like back then. He felt appreciated and loved. His eyes became wet from tears. He wiped them quickly with sleeve, but then there appeared another ones. He looked once again into Bible and read this verses all over again.

_You are the salt of the earth…_

Tears ran down his cheeks, but this time he didn't wipe them off. His lips formed into light smile.

_You are the light of the world…_

Was it God, who was speaking to him with those words? Spain didn't know, but he was still smiling. Salt of the earth. Light of the world. Was he something like that? Maybe not for the whole world, but maybe he was someone's light? Maybe he was someone's salt? As a country, yes. People were dying for him. But as a person?

Suddenly he heard someone's steps and soon Vatican was standing by his side. Angelo rest his hand on Antonio's shoulder and smiled to him friendly.

"You seem to be happy for some reason. Would you like to stay a little longer or go home already?"

"Why should I stay? And why should I go?" Spain asked quietly.

"You can stay here and speak with God." Vatican replied. "Or you can go home and speak with Him in your own room. It's up to you." Suddenly he saddened. "I know, you may be angry. I know that you may don't want to think about God. Most of people in harsh situation don't want to hear about Him. But maybe later you will want to find help in faith. To see God's love, you have to be open at it. You have to speak with Him personally. You can do it in His or your house. I'm sure He don't mind."

Spain gazed at the cross. For the last time he was watching the statue of agonizing Jesus. Then he put the Bible on the bench and stood up. His eyes met with Vatican's and he smiled to the other nation.

"Let's go home. Romano, Francis and Gilbert probably just made dinner."

When they arrived to his place, France led Spain to living room, where Prussia was already waiting to start some cheerful conversation with him. France returned to kitchen, probably to make dinner. Spain seemed to like Prussia's company. Vatican was observing whole scene with wide smile, until South Italy proposed him a cup of tea.

"No, thank you." He said politely. "I have to go, now."

"What?" France's head popped in the kitchen door. "I thought you will stay a little longer."

"I've done, what I could do. Now it's your turn, boys. After all you are his guardian angels." He smiled to them both and waved them, before leaving.

* * *

**The Bilbe fragment is Gospel according to Matthew 5, 13-16. It was the fragment that helped me, when I had suicidal thoughts.**


End file.
